


Day Twenty-One: Torture

by OBlossom



Series: Febuwhump 2021 [21]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: FebuWhump2021, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, IronDad and SpiderSon, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Rogue Avengers Redemption, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:35:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29640327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OBlossom/pseuds/OBlossom
Summary: Peter really wished he had someone to talk to.Peter laughed as the thought came to him. Whoever these people were had definitely done their research. They didn’t need guns or fists, even. Stick the socially awkward teenager with abandonment issues and nervous energy coming out of his ears alone in a room forever and watch him lose his mind—well played, bad guys. Well played.And then it wasn’t funny anymore.
Relationships: Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Febuwhump 2021 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138958
Comments: 3
Kudos: 136
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	Day Twenty-One: Torture

**Author's Note:**

> This one was really hard to write... it fought and fought and then I started to panic about it, so...
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> -Colleen xo

Day 21: Torture

They’d had him for two days. That was one thing he was certain of thanks to the window at the opposite end of the room. Well, he’d been conscious and awake for two days. The drug they’d injected him with had been pretty potent, but it wouldn’t have knocked him out for more than a few hours, right?

Then when his mind had started to clear, Peter also realized that he’d been dressed for a wild afternoon of Smash Bros. and pizza rolls with Ned at his place, yet his kidnappers had definitely been ready for Spider-Man; the vibranium cuffs and chains keeping him tightly secured and upright against the wall when he woke were a testament to that. 

Yeah. That was not good.

He kept trying to come up with clues as to who would have taken him.

He’d remembered his senses tingling. He’d remembered the feeling of the syringe plunging into his neck. And then he remembered the world swirling... and then black. 

Then there was the grey of the room. He’d been so disappointed to see himself in another damned warehouse—he was so tired of them. He’d waken up in the strange smelling room, pressed flat against the wall—chest, wrists, thighs and ankles bound. He’d already been stripped of his phone, Starkwatch and webshooters, which sucked. 

And no one came in until—

Well, he was stripped of his clothing, too, after, well—he’d been there for a long time and he wasn’t gonna let himself to be embarrassed by it—no, he wouldn’t. He’d called out, even begged and if they weren’t going to help, well... he was almost grateful that they’d washed him down, though.

Almost. 

The pressure of the hose and the cold of the water, it hurt... and how they cleaned the floor after? Peter remembered the time when Uncle Ben and Aunt May had taken him to the zoo, and how disappointed he’d been that the monkeys weren’t in their enclosure. He remembered how a worker was hosing away the filth...

He would never speak of this though, not to anyone.

Nope. This one was going the grave with him.

No one had been in the room since then so he couldn’t be bothered. Really—and when they were they hadn’t even said a word, which was almost as terrifying as when the two gas-masked, silent men had started cutting his clothing off of his body rather than unlocking the restraints—

But he was okay.

Really.

Truthfully, he wasn’t even sure they’d looked at him once he’d stopped trying to fight them... well, after they’d knocked him silly, which was totally fine. If he’d had someone yelling insults about their mother at them, Peter probably wouldn’t have wanted to talk to them either. 

He was perfectly okay on his own anyways.

* * * * * *

They’d apparently decided that he wasn’t getting any water or food after that so there wouldn’t be a replay—so he guessed that worked as both a blessing and a curse.  
The pressure of the hose has left welts and bruises, after all.

And the room still smelled weird.

* * * * *

Peter really wished he had someone to talk to. 

Peter laughed as the thought came to him. Whoever these people were had definitely done their research. They didn’t need guns or fists, even. Stick the socially awkward teenager with abandonment issues and nervous energy coming out of his ears alone in a room forever and watch him lose his mind—well played, bad guys. Well played.

And then it wasn’t funny anymore.

* * * * * *

Had the smell gotten stronger? It was making feel a little sick, if he thought about it.

But that didn’t fix anything, so he didn’t think about it.

* * * * * *

On that first day, Peter had taken comfort in certain things. 

He knew that Ned would try calling him when he didn’t show up for their game date. And he knew that when that didn’t work, Ned would call Mr. Stark, who’d maybe be in the mood to answer the phone... or he would send it along to Happy, and Peter’s heart sank. He’d forgiven him but wasn’t sure he could trust him when Happy was in charge of anything Peter related. So maybe Mr. Stark wouldn’t know that he was missing? And maybe no one was coming to get him—

* * * * * *

He found that if he breathed really slow and deep, he could keep from throwing up the nothing in his stomach when the nausea was at its worst. He wasn’t sure if bile would warrant the same treatment as...

And then a thought struck out of nowhere. What if Mr. Stark was expecting him to find his own way home? Maybe that’s why he was taking so long! It all made sense! What if this was a test? Like, Mr. Stark had decided to add this to his training regiment but didn’t say anything about it. He’d talked about some of the messed up stuff the Rogues did as far as training exercises went. What if Mr. Stark had decided that Peter wasn’t good enough and he’d needed to get tough? What if the people that had taken him were SHIELD and maybe Ned was even in on it... but wasn’t SHIELD still HYDRA? Shit! What if Ned was HYDRA?

The thoughts were too much, like ‘loony bin’ too much, but his mind wouldn’t stop racing. 

He tried to keep breathing deep. Maybe the air would help clear his mind.

He closed his eyes and clenched his fists—as much as he could for the growing weakness in his limbs. He breathed deep, tried to center his thoughts. He was so hungry and thirsty and cold and tired and he just wanted...

“You know! A little music would be nice, at least!” He called out to the empty room. “Seriously! You’re not very gracious hosts!” He coughed through the dryness in his throat. “

Yeah, maybe the silence was a little unbearable.

* * * * * * 

The sun had set on another day and then risen again.

On the first day, he’d try to bend his joints just a little to remind himself that he could. The strain of standing still for going onto his third day had caused his joints to lock; and while the discomfort from the strain of standing for far too long had been unbearable, the swelling of his limbs cutting into his binding was three steps beyond that. 

He was definitely failing this training exercise... ‘cuz that had to be what it was. It had been too long, Mr. Stark wouldn’t leave him for so long. Would he?

Mr. Stark was going to be so disappointed in him and his heart was broken for it, but was too dehydrated to cry about it.

* * * * * *

He wondered if, maybe this wasn’t a training exercise after all. The smell that permeated the space was making him nauseous, but that could have been the exhaustion.

* * * * * *

The sun had set on another day and then risen again...

* * * * * *

He wondered when the sun had gone down... he’d been trying so hard to keep track...

* * * * * *

He didn’t... no, he couldn’t react when he heard what might have been gunfire coming from the other side of the door, save for a smile. He did wonder though, if he was finally getting company...

* * * * * *

Tony had been desperate; desperate enough to pull a flip phone out of his desk and call the one person he was certain he’d never call on again. This was Peter though, and he wasn’t fucking around with it.

After the call from Ned, and the initial search for trackers and such from his tech, Tony had FRIDAY pull up CCTV footage and any private security footage that could help him get a lock on his kid. 

All he could get was an old licence plate reported stolen from some lady’s minivan in Scranton, Pennsylvania and an emptied syringe discarded in the street near the Parker residence.

There had been no accidents reported, no John Does washing up anywhere—yes, he’d checked, and no ransom calls. He was just gone. He’d done everything he legally (and illegally) could, but nothing was working.

He needed help, and for Peter he would do anything.

Natasha had been at the tower within the hour and accessing things Tony didn’t even know still existed when she’d gotten the hit. Steve and the others were in a conference room waiting for the word— after a brief meeting and introduction to the boy who Tony would give the world to... and who Steve had thrown a gangway at, well, no one was saying anything. They’d hash it out once they got the Peter back.

And they were definitely getting him back.

It had taken them twenty-three minutes by quinjet to get to where he’d been taken—

And three minutes to figure out that this was the work of some desperate leftover AIM scientists determined to pick up where their lunatic leader had left off. 

Hollered confessions between kicks and punches had yielded enough information that they were concerned. And it had been so many days.

AIM had been so hopeful. They suspected that the essence of what made Spider-Man was rooted way down at the molecular level—not like some of the others with their hocus pocus and glowy rock experiments... and Captain America was hiding out on the African continent so he’d been useless to them. Truthfully, even with all of Tony’s security and firewalls, finding Peter’s identity had been simple with the right, illegal knowledge—and AIM had it.

Tony would never forgive himself.

After confirming their hypothesis, they’d exposed Spider-Man to an experimental hallucinogenic drug, and were hoping he’d transform into a lethal but absolutely exploitable killer. They were blissfully disappointed in the results. They’d spat out some words about the failed specimen and paranoia and lethargy and revealed that they’d been preparing to vent the room of all air to terminate the specimen in order to dissect and study their findings. 

Then the Avengers came calling. 

They had some searching to do.

* * * * * *

Steve had been the first one to enter the room, and for the rest of his life, he’d wish that he hadn’t, that someone else had been the first. He’d stopped short when he saw the boy hanging limp on the wall, suspended only by bands of metal cutting into his flesh. It was only a quick thought to his teammate that he shouted out, “Don’t let Tony in here!”

Of course this was the worst thing to say.

Tony, trailed by Sam, Natasha, Wanda, and Clint, came busting through the door. With only a moment’s hesitation, Tony was at the boy, fingers to his neck and checking for a pulse. “Pete? Hey, kid!” He tapped on his cheek to try and wake him.

Steve stopped him; put a restraining hand on his arm. “Tony, we’ve gotta get him down from there. It may be better if he’s not aware for it.” Steve glanced back at Wanda and gestured to the bindings. “Look, Tony? Let Wanda get these things off him and we can get him to help, okay?”

Tony didn’t move and Steve knew it was because they’d only just gotten to him. Natasha stepped forward then to pull him away. “Come on, Tony. She’ll be quick and then we can get your boy home, alright?”

Something about getting Peter home must have clicked in Tony’s panicked brain. With a quick nod, he stepped away from the kid but never took his eyes off of him. Then he waited... hands wringing with impatience or perhaps nervousness? Perhaps the blind trust wasn’t quite what Steve had hoped it would be.

But they’d get there.

Steve was awed at the control Wanda exercised as she removed the bands from the partially healed swelled over skin. Then Tony and Sam were suddenly rushing forward, catching the boy’s limp body as it fell from its confines, while Nat was pulling off her jacket to cover the boy’s body. Clint had already run ahead to fire up the quinjet and start pulling medical supplies for Sam.

The fresh blood from where the boy had been bound was everywhere—Tony and Sam tried desperately to find a place to hold the boy and not cause him any pain. 

Wanda saw their struggle and took control.

Steve knew that she’d get the boy to the jet safely... and Tony would learn that, too.

They all started moving as one unit toward the door, when Tony paused and looked at the others. “Look, I know what we should be doing here, but...” Tony drew in a deep breath. “They found my kid. They can’t...” He struggled to find the words—seemed to hope that Steve would understand without it needing to be said. “I need...”

Steve looked at Tony, and then at their young charge—just a boy who was trying to do good. He glanced to Nat and Sam, who both nodded without hesitation. Steve then stared Tony right in the eye, and with a firm nod said, “Tony, you don’t need to say another word. It will be our pleasure.”

**Author's Note:**

> Twenty one is done.
> 
> Hope doesn't suck.


End file.
